


Step Right Up

by starfishstar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, autumn of Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 22:48:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3627165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfishstar/pseuds/starfishstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lee Jordan has the best idea of his life. Now he just needs someone else to hear him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Step Right Up

**Author's Note:**

> An idea that popped into my head when I saw the [daily_snitch](http://daily-snitch.livejournal.com/) was planning a Special Edition for stories about Lee Jordan.

_"Ladies and gentlemen, step right up! Let Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes put some good cheer in your cup!"_

Passing by the open doorway of Number 93, Diagon Alley, Kingsley Shacklebolt smiled despite himself. In the months following Voldemort's coup at the Ministry, those Weasley boys weren't letting even a state of open warfare dampen their enthusiasm. There was a certain audacious heroism to Fred and George Weasley's business approach, though it made Kingsley worry for their safety. Then again, these days Kingsley worried about the safety of everyone he knew.

_"Have You-Know-Who's antics got you feeling down? Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes will Vanish that sad frown!"_

That wasn't one of the Weasley boys, though, keeping up a running patter in the shop doorway. Rather, it was a young man with dreadlocks neatly framing his face and a thick scarf in Gryffindor colours wrapped around his throat against the blustering autumn wind. He looked about the right age to be a friend of the Weasley twins.

Indeed, as Kingsley passed, with his shoulders squared and his gaze watchful as always these days, he saw a bright orange mop of hair pop out of the doorway – Fred or George, one or the other – and murmur something in the ear of the young man hawking the joke shop's wares to the few grim faces hurrying along the otherwise sombre length of Diagon Alley.

Kingsley thought he heard the word _Phoenix_ slip out from their whispered conversation and frowned. Carefree though they might seem, it wasn't like the Weasley boys to be loose-tongued with confidential information.

He shook his head and pressed on, pulling his collar tighter to keep out the biting wind. If the Weasleys trusted this friend of theirs, that would have to be good enough. Kingsley couldn't keep a protective eye on everyone. Much though he might wish it.

"Mr Shacklebolt!"

Kingsley whirled towards the voice behind him, hand already on his wand.

The young man from the Weasleys' shop spread his open hands, showing he was unarmed, and offered an equally conciliatory smile. "Sorry," he said. "Sorry, sir. I didn't mean to startle you. It's just that George said you would be the person to talk to about –" He glanced around, aware now of how his voice rang out on the nearly vacant street. "Would you mind coming into the shop? I've been helping out there lately, and I know we could talk without being overheard. Do you have a moment?"

Kingsley didn't have a moment, not really. Even on the days that were _sans_ battles with Death Eaters, keeping on top of things for the Order rarely left him a minute to spare. But there was something deadly earnest in the young man's eyes, despite his bright smile. Kingsley found himself agreeing and following him back to the shop.

"I'm Lee, by the way, Lee Jordan," the young man said, as he pulled open the front door of Number 93 and ushered Kingsley politely inside.

Kingsley nodded and stepped through the door, where found his senses assailed by – _life_. Bright, brash, babbling life bursting from every riotous corner of the shop.

To his left, a self-stirring cauldron spit carrot-coloured sparks high into the air; to his right, a collection of spinning tops in an eye-popping lime green shrieked and twirled on a delicate end table that teetered on spindly legs. Overhead, balls of colourful confetti burst in mid-air, then reformed, then burst again. Music played from several directions, three separate melodies at varying tempos that were not nearly as discordant as they might have been. The shop smelled, oddly, of fennel. And above his head, behind all the rest of the cacophony, Kingsley could have sworn he heard a songbird chirping.

He looked back to find Lee Jordan closing the door behind them, grinning and cheerfully unwinding his long Gryffindor scarf. "Welcome to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, sir."

Something landed on Kingsley's back and for the second time in as many minutes, he whirled in anticipation of an unseen attacker – but it was only a pygmy puff, in a lurid shade of fuchsia. It chittered happily at Kingsley as he plucked it from his shoulder and set it on the palm of his hand, its fur warm and downy against his skin.

He placed the creature carefully down on the floor, and watched it scamper away among the aisles of toys, sweets, objects of concealment, dark detectors, protective artefacts… No, the Weasleys' shop was certainly not just for jokes these days.

Lee Jordan made an apologetic face and nodded in the direction the pygmy puff had gone. "Sorry about that. It turns out, you can't breed them for friendliness and cuddliness, and _also_ train them not to jump on people. Would you step towards the back here, sir?"

Kingsley followed him to the rear of the shop, which was – slightly – less noisy than the front. A herd of decoy detonators scampered between the aisles as they made their way to the back wall, where Lee stopped beside a shelf displaying grow-your-own-ice-sculpture kits.

"So," Lee said, and Kingsley saw how he checked in all directions to be sure there was no one within listening range. "I know you can't confirm or deny your involvement in a certain secret organisation that might or might not exist…but if you _were_ a member of that organisation, I'd be interested in talking to you about an idea I have." He stopped and made a rueful face at himself. "Was that phrased hypothetically enough?"

Kingsley felt a smile tugging at his lips. "Eminently. Why don't we consider the hypotheticals duly discharged, and you tell me about this idea you've got."

"Oh, good," Lee said, his face relaxing again into its easy grin. "Well, I want to start a pirate radio show."

Kingsley blinked, and not just because something that looked like enchanted snow now seemed to be wafting out from the shelf of ice sculptures. He hazarded a glance sideways – yes, enchanted snow, drifting past them, opalescent and not at all cold where it brushed his skin. The war had most people hiding in fear, but Fred and George Weasley were making magical snow. Well.

"Pirate radio," Kingsley repeated, making it a question.

"People need a source of information outside the Ministry," Lee said, his voice going low and earnest. "Outside the influence of – You-Know-Who. Something to remind people that we're still fighting." His dreadlocks bobbed as he nodded in his enthusiasm. "Fred and George reckon they can work out a way to transmit a signal, but encode it so only people with a password can hear it. And I could host the programme. I used to do Quidditch commentary, back at Hogwarts, and I'm good at public speaking. We've been talking it over for a while, the three of us, but I reckon it's time to ask all of you in the…hypothetical group what you think."

Kingsley regarded the man in front of him. He was so young, perhaps twenty at most, and so earnest in his determination to do good. Like Harry and his friends. Like the Weasley boys.

Kingsley couldn't protect all of them, he knew that too well. But it would weigh on him terribly if anything should happen to this boy because of the "yes" or "no" Kingsley gave him now.

"What exactly is it that you would report on this radio programme?" he asked, buying himself time.

"News," Lee said promptly. "Everything the Ministry and the Prophet aren't letting people know. The real facts, even when they're bad, because the worst thing is not knowing anything, isn't it? But we would talk about the good stuff, too. About people who are fighting back. About how many of us there are who aren't going along with You-Know-Who. News that gives people hope, instead of all this panic and rumour. News about Harry, when we get any, because people should know it isn't over, not by a long shot." Lee's hands curled into determined fists as he spoke.

"I trust you know what the punishment would be for anyone caught disseminating that sort of information?"

"Yeah," Lee said robustly. "I do." The mulish expression on his face, mixed stubbornness and elation, was much how Kingsley had pictured Fred and George Weasley, when Arthur had described their dramatic flight from Hogwarts during the school's year under the tyrannical reign of Dolores Umbridge. But this wasn't leaving school and starting a business. This was life and death.

"Are your parents living?" Kingsley asked.

"Yes," Lee said, looking baffled.

"Any brothers or sisters?"

"Yeah, I've got a little sister. She's still at Hogwarts."

"How would she feel if she lost you?" Kingsley asked quietly. "If the Death Eaters caught you, it might mean imprisonment, or it could be far worse. You might never come home. What would that do to your parents and your sister?"

Kingsley watched Lee's face, watched the realisation sink in. He might die in this venture. He might destroy his family, all for the sake of trying to do a bit of good.

"They would be devastated," Lee said, all trace of humour now gone. "I want to say, 'They would understand,' but you know, maybe they wouldn't. No one in my family has ever been in a secret organisation or anything. No one in my family was directly involved in the last war. My parents would probably say I should keep my head down and just try to make it through the war. But I can't do that, Mr Shacklebolt. If there's something I can do to help, even a little bit, I've got to do it. And this is something I could do really, really well."

The gazed at each other for a long, silent moment, the battle-weary Auror and the ardent young man. Kingsley remembered being twenty; it felt so very long ago. He remembered the first war, and the friends he'd lost.

"It would make a difference in people's lives," Lee said softly. "I know it would."

Kingsley nodded. "It would."

"Will you let me try? Would the Order stand behind it?"

There wasn't really any question, was there? Kingsley knew how this young man felt. He couldn't stand in the way.

"We're meeting this Saturday," Kingsley said. "Why don't you come and explain your idea to the whole group then."

It took a moment for the meaning of his matter-of-fact words to hit, then a dazzling grin broke across Lee's face.

"Seriously?" he asked.

"Seriously," Kingsley said. "We'll make it happen, and we'll do all we can to keep you safe." He dug in the inner pocket of his robe for a scroll of parchment, tore off a corner, and scribbled down an address. "This is the location of the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Memorise it, then destroy it."

Lee's face was as radiant as the sun. Kingsley hoped he hadn't chosen wrongly.

"Thank you, sir. I won't disappoint you."

"See that you don't," Kingsley said. "By which I mean, keep yourself alive through this."

Lee sobered again. "Yes, sir."

Kingsley nodded. "I have work to get back to, but I'll see you on Saturday, Mr Jordan."

"See you then, Mr Shacklebolt."

Kingsley turned to go, his eyes accosted once again with the glorious chaos that was Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. He had no doubt: Any friend of the Weasleys would be capable of anything he set his mind to. At a sudden thought, he turned back to Lee.

"Have you any idea what you're going to call this pirate radio show of yours, Mr Jordan?"

Lee grinned. "Well, sir, seeing as we're all of us making it our business to look out for the bloke with the lightning scar – I thought we'd call it Potterwatch."

Kingsley smiled. "Couldn't have put it better myself."

He nodded again, and turned to make his way through the cacophonous aisles of Weasley inventions. When, just before he reached the front door, a bright green parrot alit on his shoulder and squawked, "Eye of newt! Ten for a sickle!" Kingsley didn't even startle. He just smiled, gently detached the bird's claws from the fabric of his robe, and stepped back out into the chill wind of Diagon Alley.


End file.
